Bachelor Girl

by Kim van Alkemade

  “There’s more than enough space in your suite for a breakfast table,” Albert pointed out. “Are you having a dumbwaiter installed?”

  “The kitchens are under the opposite wing of the house, so the architect tells me a dumbwaiter is not practical. Osamu can bring up a tray.” He contemplated the drawings with a frown. “I plan to host the Yankees, and members of the Brewers’ Association, too. It would be a help to have you there, Helen, to entertain the wives. I’d hate to expose you to gossip, though, coming into my room in the morning.” He placed the tip of his pencil on the wall that separated his suite from the guest room beside it and drew in a doorway. “I’ll have the architect put in a pocket door.”

  “I’ll be happy to keep you company for breakfast, Jake.” It was sweet of him to be so protective of my reputation, though I doubted the two of us eating together would cause a scandal. And, of course, Albert could always come through Jake’s room to visit me. It would be our own cozy world, like the play within the play in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the pocket door a chink in the wall for us to blink through.

  Jake rolled up the plans for Eagle’s Rest. “Now, let’s talk about this production company Helen is to run.”

  We three pulled up chairs close to the fireplace and addressed the first order of business: a name. I was afraid Jake would think my suggestion of Pipsqueak Productions too frivolous, but, with Princess on his lap, he heartily approved. Next was the question of officers for the company. Jake proposed Albert as president so we’d have a male figurehead, though I’d be doing all the actual work as vice president. For a moment I was offended, but really, what did it matter to me whose name was listed first on the incorporation papers? We all knew it would be my company to run, and I was glad that Albert and I would be working together.

  “You’ll need a third officer as treasurer,” Jake said.

  “What about Richard Martin?” Albert suggested.

  I’d been thinking of Bernice Johnson, the bookkeeper, but Jake responded before I could speak up. “A name with such a long history in the theater would give her credibility. Good idea, Kramer. Just make sure he doesn’t have any authority over the money. Now, tell me, Helen, how do you propose to finance this company of yours?”

  I’d put a lot of thought into it, of course, and I pitched my idea. Once all the assets of the Olde Playhouse had been divided between the theater and the production company, I expected there would be plenty of extra costumes and props that I could sell to raise some money, which we could use to fund the first production. I was already planning to approach O’Neill with an offer to bring Beyond the Horizon uptown.

  “I doubt if selling some dresses and swords will yield enough capital to mount a production,” Jake said. “Instead of liquidating your assets, it would be better if you used them as collateral against a loan. Would twenty thousand give you enough to get started?”

  I hadn’t allowed myself to dream so big. “Do you really think a bank would lend me that much?”

  “Not a bank, Helen. Me. I’ll make you the loan.” Jake nodded at Albert, who pulled a pad of paper from his pocket and began taking notes. “I’ll defer repayment for the first year, then we’ll begin monthly installments on a graduated scale at a modest rate of return. And you can prepay without penalty if you have a hit show.”

  Though it was a fraction of what he’d spent to acquire Babe Ruth, it was much more than I expected. Still, I’d have to be frugal if I hoped to tempt a renowned playwright like O’Neill. If my salary was to be contingent on profits, it would be a long time before I made any money for myself. It looked like I’d be following Jake’s example and having breakfast with my mother well into my thirties. “Thank you, Jake. That’s a generous offer.”

  “Very good. Kramer will take care of the rest of it.”

  “Is there anything else, sir?” Albert asked. “Any impending business with Mr. Astor, for instance?”

  Jake gave Albert a long look which I found inscrutable. I wondered if there was some other topic they’d be discussing if I weren’t there. “No, nothing else. Just leave the loan papers on my desk when they’re ready for my signature. I’ll be at Madison Square Garden most of the week for the dog show. How about you, Helen, would you like to go?”

  The play that was currently at the Olde Playhouse was in the middle of its run and selling well. There was nothing Richard Martin couldn’t manage on his own for the week. “Thank you, Jake, I’d like that. I’ll make sure to go to Gimbels tomorrow for a new coat.”

  “You’re doing me a favor, Helen, accompanying me. You shouldn’t have to spend your own money on clothes. Kramer, set her up with an account at Macy’s.”

  Another woman might have been suspicious of such an offer from a millionaire, but I knew Jake only wanted me to look smart enough to join him for the dog show. It wasn’t as if he expected me to swan around on his arm in evening clothes. Besides, now that he was backing my production company, the way I presented myself would be a reflection on him as well. When I thought about it that way, buying my clothes was practically a business expense.

  Jake’s cook came in to ask if he still wanted an early supper. We took that as our cue to wrap up our business and say our good-byes. We rode back across the park in a taxi, the short winter day already coming to a close. Dropping me off at home, Albert kissed my cheek and promised to have that account set up for me tomorrow. “Have fun shopping,” he said, then gave the driver his own address.

  I wished he could go with me to Macy’s, but I figured he was too busy a man to waste his time on women’s clothes. Turning to go inside, I was glad to spy Clarence in the lobby. I was anxious to hear about his father’s health, and excited to tell him about my new venture. I hoped it wouldn’t make him jealous by comparison. Though it was no fault of mine, I felt guilty that I was being given the chance to live my dream while his was being stolen from him.

  But he wasn’t alone. He was speaking with a woman perched on his stool, her booted foot swinging beneath the hem of a long skirt. They were so caught up in conversation he didn’t notice me standing at the door and I had to let myself in. It was only when I dug in my pocket for my key that I realized I still had Albert’s set as well. They must have been spares because he hadn’t missed them.

  Clarence turned when he heard the door shut behind me. The woman did, too. I was surprised to find I recognized her. “Miss Johnson?”

  “Miss Winthrope, finally.” She hopped down and smoothed her skirt. “I’m sorry to intrude on you at home, but I’ve been wrestling with my conscience all weekend and I finally decided I had to come tell you.” She glanced at Clarence, who gave her a nod. “A proposal came across my desk at Ruppert Realty on Friday, about the Olde Playhouse.”

  “An offer from Martin Beck? I know, Jake told me. But it isn’t going to happen. He’s going to turn the offer down.”

  “I’m so relieved to hear that, Miss Winthrope.”

  Clarence smiled at her. “You see, Bernice? You weren’t doing anything wrong telling her.”

  Bernice? We’d been working together for over two years and I still didn’t call her by her Christian name. “I’m sorry, are you two acquainted?”

  “No, but I’ve been waiting a while. I might have given up, but Clarence kept me so engaged in conversation I never realized how the time was flying by.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Miss Johnson,” I said, baffled as to why she and Clarence were so relaxed around each other. “In fact, I meant to contact you myself, but as long as you’re here.” I glanced at Clarence, thinking he might take the hint so we could talk business, but he seemed reluctant to leave her side. “The Olde Playhouse isn’t being sold, but we are reorganizing the company. I’m going to focus on producing the shows, which means I need to hire someone full-time to replace me as manager. I immediately thought of you. Do you think I could woo you away from Ruppert Realty?”

  The idea pleased her, I could see, though it was Clarence she looked at when she said yes,
she could be wooed. “Of course, I’ll need to know the particulars of my duties and the salary before I make a decision.”

  “I’m so glad you’ll consider it, Miss Johnson. I need to speak with Mr. Kramer about how it’s all going to work. Do you have a telephone number where I can reach you?”

  “My parents recently had one installed, yes.” She took a calling card from her pocketbook and handed it to me. The address was on Minetta Lane, near the Italian section of Greenwich Village they used to call Little Africa. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you, Miss Winthrope.” To my surprise, she handed one to Clarence as well. “Perhaps I’ll hear from you, too.”

  “You can count on it.” He smiled as he plucked the card from her fingers and held open the door. I watched him watch her walk away, astonished at his brazen gaze. “Bernice sure is an impressive woman, isn’t she, Helen?” He tucked her card into his pocket. “You must see it, too, for you to offer her a job like that.”

  “She’s an excellent bookkeeper. But, Clarence, don’t you think you should be more careful?”

  “Why, is there some reason I shouldn’t call her? She isn’t engaged, is she?”

  “No, not that I know of.” I cringed, remembering that lynching story in The Crisis. “I suppose you were in France so long maybe you’ve forgotten what it’s like here for men who flirt with women like her.”

  “You mean bookkeepers?”

  He was being ridiculously dense. “New York’s not Mississippi, but even so, Clarence, I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

  He stared at me, confused, until his eyebrows shot up and he broke into a guffaw. “You think she’s white, don’t you?”

  Now I was the one who stared back, baffled. “Isn’t she Italian?”

  “She lets them think so at work, but no, Bernice is colored. Like me.”

  I thought of the tight curls at the nape of Miss Johnson’s neck. Should I have known from that tiny hint? But her skin was only a shade darker than mine. Olive, I’d call it. Maybe tan. Not brown. Certainly not black. “How could you tell?”

  “I didn’t see it right away myself, her complexion’s so bright. But once we got to talking, I knew.” Deliberately, Clarence took my wrist and turned up my hand, pressing his thumb into the center of my palm. “For most of us our color is right there on the surface, but for some it’s more in the blood than on the skin.” He let go of my hand, the blood rushing back into the white circle he’d formed with the pressure of his thumb. “You won’t change your mind about offering her that job now, will you?”

  “Of course not.” As soon as I said the words I realized I had, in fact, been about to change my mind, but only because I feared Jake would disapprove. I just wouldn’t tell him, I decided. Once Bernice Johnson proved herself as manager, no one would care about her race. “I’m just surprised I didn’t know, is all.”

  “There’s plenty of us who pass right out of the black world and into the white without anyone the wiser. Didn’t you read that Charles Chesnutt novel I gave you?”

  “The House Behind the Cedars? I guess I’ve been too busy.” Actually, I’d forgotten all about it; I was eager, now, to crack its spine.

  Clarence pulled open the elevator door. I stepped inside. I looked at him, his face so familiar I sometimes forgot to notice its color, and wondered what white ancestor put that fleck of green in his brown eyes. “Would you pass, if you could?”

  “I don’t believe a man should have to pass himself off as something he’s not just to get ahead in this world, Helen.”

  I agreed with him on principle, but it wasn’t getting ahead in the world I was thinking of. Riding up to my floor, I stared at my hand. Though the difference between my skin and Miss Johnson’s was slight, it was enough that she and Clarence could kiss without being punished for it.

  Chapter 26

  When I picked Helen up for our date Friday night, she was wearing a straight skirt and loose jacket over a button-down shirt with a little necktie. I made her turn around under the lights of the marquee. “You look very smart. Is that a new outfit from Macy’s?”

  She checked her reflection in the glass doors of the Olde Playhouse. “I thought I was just getting a coat, but the salesgirl said she’d been authorized to make me over head to toe. It’s the new look for women, but except for the skirt I feel like I’m wearing my brother’s clothes.”

  “No one would mistake you for Rex, believe me.” We automatically walked toward the Italian restaurant where we so often ate on Friday nights. After taking some time to taste our wine and listen to the violin, I asked her to tell me what happened at the dog show that week.

  “I hardly know how to explain it. Once you get all the Saint Bernards together in a ring, I can’t tell them apart. Bulgari took reserve, whatever that means, but Oh Boy flat out lost to a dog with no pedigree whatsoever. It seemed terribly unfair, given what Jake spent to establish his kennel.” She took a last bite of her antipasto before the waiter exchanged it for the pasta course. “Oh Boy did snarl at the judge, but that shouldn’t have been held against him. Madison Square Garden was so crowded it’s a wonder the dogs behaved themselves at all.”

  “I read the results in the paper. I didn’t have the heart to ask the Colonel about it.”

  “I’d avoid the subject if I were you. A reporter asked him how it felt to lose and he was so annoyed he said he was going to trade in his Saint Bernards for beagles.”

  I laughed. “He’d never give up Oh Boy and Bulgari, even if he stopped showing them. He loves those dogs too much. And I don’t think he cares at all for beagles.”

  Our talk turned to the establishment of Pipsqueak Productions. I’d met with the lawyers that week to set up the company, and opened a bank account where I’d deposited the Colonel’s loan. “I’ll have everything ready for you to sign on Monday, Helen, if you can get Richard Martin to meet us at the lawyer’s office. Have you found someone to replace you as manager?”

  Helen told me she’d offered the job to the bookkeeper from Ruppert Realty who’d been handling the accounts for the Olde Playhouse. “She’s smart as can be, and she understands the workings of the theater. Can I quote her the same salary I was making?”

  “Go ahead. It’ll be an improvement on her wages at the realty company, I’m sure.”

  I asked which movie she wanted to see after dinner. Prisoners of Love was playing at the Capitol Theatre and Helen had read a good review of the picture. “Not only that, but Betty Compson produced it herself.”

  “Prisoners of Love it is, then,” I said, signaling the maître d’ for the check.

  • • •

  The next evening, I sat by the front window of my apartment looking down at the snowy street, watching for Felix to come home. He usually returned from the Sabbath weighed down by his parents’ expectations, but on this Saturday he moved through the circles of streetlight with a delightful swagger, chin high and gloved hands swinging freely. At our stoop he looked up and saw me, my forehead pressed against the glass. Blinking back snowflakes, he blew me a kiss. I committed the image to memory, like a figure captured in a snow globe, before rushing off to heat up our supper.

  I was setting two bowls on the table when Felix walked in through our secret door, his cheeks still red from the cold. He grabbed my lapels and pulled me in for a kiss.

  “What are you so happy about?”

  “Just glad to see you.”

  I forgot about the chowder I had warming on the gas ring until we heard a sizzle in the kitchenette. We ran in to find the pot boiling over. “See what a mess you made of everything, Felix.”

  He teased me for being so dramatic, and he was right, the chowder was only singed. All through the meal, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. There was something he wasn’t telling me. When I brought out the coffee and cake, I demanded to know what was up.

  “Do you think Helen can take care of herself next Friday? Because my mother invited you to join us for Shabbat.”

  “Really?” I
knew where his parents lived—we often walked down that block and he’d pointed it out—but I’d never been inside the house. “Why, what’s happened?”

  “I want you to know them, my father especially. We’re going to be doing a lot of business together once Colonel Ruppert signs the option on the orphanage property.” I was glad to hear he’d given up his conspiracy theory about Ruppert and Astor. All week, I’d been reassuring him there was no deal in the offing. Still, I was afraid he was getting ahead of himself again and told him so. “Don’t worry, Albert. I’m optimistic we’ll have some good news before the trustees meeting tomorrow. Look, it’s still early. Why don’t we go out to a show?”

  “What, right now?”

  Felix shrugged. “Why not? You’ve been wanting to see Shuffle Along, haven’t you?” He wasn’t usually so impulsive, and I jumped at the chance. On 63rd Street, we enriched an unscrupulous scalper five whole dollars to get ourselves two seats, but as the show commenced it seemed worth every penny. Shuffle Along was even better than the reviews had promised. The enthusiasm of the performers was contagious, the dancing so concussive it shook the stage. I wondered what Paul would think of the stomp and kick of the tap routines, so different from the lifts and spins of the ballet. The story was a pretty thin thread on which to string the song and dance numbers, but the audience didn’t seem to care. It was a mixed crowd—in our row, Felix and I were in the minority—and as we came back from intermission, I wondered what would happen if our secret difference were as recognizable as our race. Would it make it that much easier for people to target us with their disgust? Or would our hidden legions made manifest force society to make a place for us in their shops and schools, at the tables of their restaurants and dining rooms, on the pews of their churches and synagogues? I tried to talk these thoughts over with Felix when we got home, but he stopped my mouth with kisses and I gladly gave up speaking. The cold opinions of the world outside seemed not to matter in the shared warmth of our bed.